


Everything Will Be Alright

by UnapologeticallyMeatwad



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Musical References, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25054441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnapologeticallyMeatwad/pseuds/UnapologeticallyMeatwad
Summary: Whizzer's late for dinner (late late again) and Marvin, on Round 2 in this relationship, does not want to be an asshole about it.
Relationships: Whizzer Brown/Marvin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Eat Drink and Make Merry 2020





	Everything Will Be Alright

Marvin sits down at the dinner table and eyes the dish before him hungrily. Covered with a paper towel, it’s an absolute mystery to him as to what this dinner could be. He looks up, watching Whizzer wander back into the kitchen. “Oh, c’mon, Whizzer! Join me for dinner, why dont’cha?”

“Nope!” Whizzer calls out simply, very set on his plan.

Marvin frowns; he doesn’t like that. He wants to eat dinner with his boyfriend, but he also knows he’s probably being a controlling asshole again. He  _ just _ started dating Whizzer again and already he’s jumping to the  _ “Late for dinner! Late late again late for dinner, late late again!”  _ thing which leads to the even worse “ _ This had better come to an end, this had better come to an end, this this this this THIS had better _ — ” well, y’know the bit.

But still, Marvin can’t help himself. “Whizzer!” he whines.

“Nope,” Whizzer says.

Ugh, so insufferable, so, ergh,  _ adorable. _

Greedily, Marvin reaches for and yanks the paper towel off of the bowl revealing it to be — uh, Cheerios. The suburban dad in Marvin’s soul screams and dies violently in that moment, he thinks. “Wait,” at least he finds himself chuckling at the sight of this. “What is this?”

“Italian.”

“Italian?”

“Italian.”

Marvin sucks on his teeth for a moment, considering the Cheerio’s. Could it possible be…?

“It’s not Italian,” Whizzer promptly interrupts Marvin’s train of thought. “Traditionally at least.”

Marvin is so lost, he feels like an absolute buffoon, so he slouches back in the chair, staring at the Cheerio’s like he might a surrealist work at an art museum. What could Whizzer mean?

“In Italy, they have appetizers before the main course,” Whizzer says, only his shoulder visible from where Marvin sits. “Or maybe I’m just making that up.”

“Oof,” Marvin frowns, thumbing his chin. “So you’re making the main course, or it’s coming out soon?”

“Eat the dinner, Marvin.”

Marvin grabs the back of his neck. He does not want to eat Cheerio’s. He almost wants to seran wrap them for the next time Jason stays a night over, but that would probably make Jason hate his guts even harder. Who seran wraps Cheerio’s?

Marvin gets up and struts into the kitchen, watching Whizzer work. He’s doing something with his hands, mixing something in a glass bowl.

Marvin looks over Whizzer’s shoulder, trying to get it. Whizzer snarls in his classic “Nyergh!” grunt and palms Marvin’s face with a nasty hand covered in food.

“Ah shit, I gotta wash my hands now,” Whizzer frowns, walking away. “Don’t want to get  _ Marvin  _ all up in these beanballs.”

Marvin frowns, picking some of the gook from his cheek and holds it into the light. It’s… a kidney bean.

“Bean balls?” Marvin asks.

“Bean balls,” Whizzer says simply, switching on the faucet. “Beans in a ball. Bean balls. B-E-A-N B-A-L-L-S.”

Marvin considers this. “No beef?”

“No. No beefy weefy for Marvin.”

“Shit,” Marvin frowns, “Hey, move over I need to watch my face.”

“Wash everything, you’re nasty.”

Whizzer thumps Marvin in the ribs with his elbow as he struts by, diving right back into mixing. “It’s kidney beans and onion and breadcrumbs and soy…” He reaches for a plastic container of this yellow stuff. “...and nooch,” he sprinkles it on. “Or nutritional yeast for the uninformed.”

“No meat?” Marvin asks again.

Whizzer nods seriously. “No meat. I gave it up.”

Marvin frowns. “Wow, what’s that like?”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Whizzer sighs, lifting up a mold of bean balls. He rolls it between both palms until it’s perfectly round and gently he places it on the baking tray. “I’m sure that suburban dad in your heart is writhing in agony.  _ How untraditional! Not only am I porking a man, but I’m  _ — ”

“No, he died already,” Marvin says, slapping a paper towel between his hands. “You killed him, Whizzer. It was horrible. There was blood and shit everywhere.”

“You pooped yourself?”

“Absolutely.”

Whizzer turns around and finds himself nose to nose with Marvin. Sometimes — Marvin gets the sense that his closeness actually scares people, given how much of a violent asshole he used to be. Thus, Whizzer blinks so Marvin steps back to give the guy some space. 

“Was it when we broke up?” Whizzer asks.

“No, it was a minute ago when I found out you made me Cheerio’s for dinner.”

Whizzer blinks. “Well, I didn’t  _ make _ you Cheerio’s persay, I just poured them directly from the box into the bowl and called it dinner.”

Marvin doesn’t like this — he’s one step behind Whizzer tonight. This isn’t how their banter should generally be. It’s supposed to be cold and vicious — like that game where you stack hands on other people’s hands, waiting for one person to go ballistic and punch the pile of appendages. 

“You made it a whole production, how about that?” Marvin challenges.

Whizzer eyes him as if Marvin had just performed a perfect serve in tennis or something. He nods and sticks the tray into the oven, and bends back, folding his biceps together, standing ramrod straight.

“How long?” Marvin asks.

“Twenty minutes.”

Marvin frowns. “You going to set the timer?”

“Start countin’, chump,” Whizzer smirks.

Marvin almost sweats, should he really start counting? He eyes the time on the oven. 6:33PM. That means — 6:53PM. Which is, uh —

_ Late for dinner, late late again, late for dinner, late late again _ —

— but that’s okay, could be okay, or is okay? Hmph.

“I don’t trust myself,” Marvin says. 

Whizzer arcs an eyebrow high in a very Whizzer-ly way and reaches over the stove to set up the timer. Nineteen minutes now. 

“I meant metaphorically,” Marvin sighs.

“Ah,” Whizzer rasps. “Scary.”

Marvin chuckles.

“Take a seat, Marvin.”

Marvin complies, sitting at his original spot at the kitchen table, the Cheerio’s still staring him down. 

“What’s on your so-called mind?” Whizzer asks.

Marvin raises an eyebrow. “That’s a poor man’s imitation of Mendel, Whizzer.”

“Psch,” Whizzer blows his spit curl back up over his head. “That — was an original production.”

“Oy vey,” Marvin rolls his eyes and slaps both hands to the armrest. “I just don’t want to be an asshole to you again.”

“Then don’t be.”

Marvin hesitates. “Well.”

“Well?”

“It’s hard, I mean, I’ve thought of like nine mean things since I walked in the door.”

“Mm,” Whizzer nods. “But did you say any of them out loud?”

“N-no,” Marvin scratches his head. “Man, I should get a psychiatrist, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Whizzer says, “You didn’t try after the  _ incident? _ ”

Marvin is not impressed by this. “No, I mean, my psychiatrist was bonkin’ my wife, so…”

“There’s like, at least ten bajillion other psychiatrists in the world, Marvin,” Whizzer shakes his head. “Just go to one of them.”

“And what — start over?”

“No, you should stage a musical about your life and perform it for them so they’re totally up to speed on your life.”

Marvin opens his mouth to say something and then pauses. A musical, huh? He doesn’t know where he would fit in a tap number, that’s the only problem…

“Wait, are you seriously — ” Whizzer looks so genuinely stunned and confused.

Marvin picks up on that and laughs. “Yeah, you know me, egomaniacal me, but I can’t think of any songs. Like what’s the opening number to my life?”

Whizzer rolls his eyes and gets out of the chair. “I should make linguine.”

Marvin does like linguine, but that’s low maintenance! “Whizzer, if my life were a musical…”

“ _ Four Jews in a Room Bitching _ ,” Whizzer snarks, filling the pot up with cold water. He counts off the names. “You, me, Mendel, and Jason.”

“Jason doesn’t  _ bitch _ .”

“Uh, newsflash Marvin,” Whizzer laughs, setting the pot down and turning on the heat after a sprinkle of salt. “Jason bitches.”

“Hm, I guess so,” Marvin frowns. 

“I weighed my odds, you know,” Whizzer explains, pointing at the timer. “I feel safe with you, it’s fine, Marvin. Keep time.”

“Keep time…” Marvin mutters for himself. “Yeah, it says seventeen minutes.”

“Oh, _ wow _ ,” Whizzer shakes his head. “Da-doy, Marvin. Good reading, I mean, do the math so you know when to put the pasta in.”

“Oh,” Marvin says. “Sure, yeah, I can do that. In five minutes we should toss it in.”

“Just make sure to say that in five minutes or…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“ _ Yeah, yeah, _ ” Whizzer laughs, looking at Marvin with such bright eyes. “You’re not really going to do the musical thing, are you? Your therapy sessions were already a mini-opera, I don’t think you need to — ”

“No!” Marvin blurts out. “No, no.”

Whizzer just kinda stands there.

Marvin seizes the moment, “But it would be a great way to bring my next shrink up to — ”

“Marvin!”

“ — speed, yeah, I know, our musical wouldn’t be very good anyways. There’d be no room for tap dancing.”

“Right, and if there’s no tap, there’s no show.”

“Exactly,” Marvin points out. “See, this is why we’re a great couple.”

“Oh sure,” Whizzer rolls his eyes and suddenly dives at Marvin, gripping him tight by the hip, positioning his head over Marvin’s like a viper ready to strike, but instead he playfully kisses him on the nose before breaking. “You gotta clean your face, bean boy. You missed a spot.”

“Bean boy,” Marvin mutters to himself. “Oh! Bean boy, right, we’re eating beans and…”

Whizzer knocks himself into the chair and kicks his feet up, stretching his arms back. “You know what would be the showstopper in our show?”

“ _ Four Jews in a Room Bitching _ sounds like a showstopper.”

“Well, by definition, an opening number cannot be a showstopper because there is no show yet to stop. Anyways, I’m trying to be endearing.”

“Go for it,” Marvin smiles.

Whizzer flashes his teeth, so pleased with himself. “ _ Everything Will Be Alright. _ ”

Marvin considers that. “ _ Jesus Christ Superstar  _ took that already I think, but you could probably use that lyric.”

Whizzer sucks on his teeth and then shakes his head. “Fucking, god, dammit, Andrew Goddamn Lloyd Webber. He’s not even that talented!”

Marvin shakes his head, laughing under his breath. He jerks a thumb towards the bathroom. “I gotta wash my face.” 

“Right on,” Whizzer says. “Good.”

Marvin grins. “I’ll miss you.”

Whizzer freezes, his eyes widening that way they do when he’s caught off-guard, and he slumps back into his chair like Jason might when he’s in a bad mood. “I’ll miss you too.”

Everything will be all right.

**Author's Note:**

> and then whizzer dies 
> 
> rip
> 
> jk I didn't know how to end this so I made it as corny as possible, sorry


End file.
